


it wasn’t special til i met you

by capulets



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: A Brief Braiding History, A Well Deserved Happy Ending, Angst But Make It Soft, Background Everyone Else, F/M, It’s Always JJ, Kie Loses It, as she should
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capulets/pseuds/capulets
Summary: kiara never expects teaching jj to braid to matter so much. it does.or, alternatively, the four times kiara lets jj braid her hair and the one time she doesn’t.(jiara week day five: 5+1 day)
Relationships: JJ & Kiara (Outer Banks), JJ/Kiara (Outer Banks)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 124
Collections: Jiara July Jubilee





	it wasn’t special til i met you

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure, this is my favorite one shot I’ve written for Jiara July (my favorite work is definitely War Of Hearts; I’m super excited for that!). All the love in the world to y’all for validating me as a writer and a jiara stan; your comments made my entire day so much brighter. Thank you so much. The title for this piece comes from Until I Met You by Alina Baraz ft. Nas, which I definitely see as a song for JJ and Kie. Plus the live BET awards version of Queen Tings by Masego, so mayhaps there will be a few songfics (or song inspired fics) in the future! Anyways, I personally hc that JJ braids Kie’s hair, so this is an exploration into that. Truly, I adore this piece so thank you for checking it out! Enjoy this five plus one fic for jiara week day five.

“Wait, so how do you do it?”

The first time Kiara lets JJ braid her hair, it doesn’t go well. Like, _at all._ Then again, letting an immature twelve year old stick his fingers into her locks is the dumbest idea she’s had in a relatively lengthy stint of decent ideas. It was fun while it lasted.

“Dude,” Kiara huffs, hiding the giggles threatening to erupt at his complete and utter ineptitude at twisting and pulling hair. She shakes her head at him, taking the strands that are fumbled around his fingers. Slowly, she starts braiding her hair down before stopping in the middle so he can try. Again, he fails miserably (which is somewhat rare for JJ, since he basically picks shit up at the drop of hat — a fact that has not gone unnoticed by Kiara, which makes this even more amusing). Without thinking, she takes his fingers and guides them through the motions of creating a braid. She’s concentrated on the task at hand, which means there’s no room to think of why they’re even doing this. To be honest, the sincerity of his request is the only reason Kie agreed to help. At first, she figured it was a way to impress girls, some trick on getting close to them for whatever stupid reason he had. But when JJ just shrugged something out in a mumble about, “wanted to surprise my mom,” Kiara _had_ to agree. She had to. Which brings them here, to the end of a braid they did together. 

Kiara untangles her fingers from JJ’s and holds up the successful plait, beaming. 

“Not so hard, right?” She encourages, and he nods.

“Cool if I try some more?” He asks her, grinning back. 

“Totally,” Kiara replies, and that’s how they spend the day. Hiding out in a little corner of The Wreck, out of sight of everyone except for her dad, who just gives them a look before sliding some food their way in the middle of a run to grab another dish. 

She tentatively asks him about his mother and he lights up. She’s never met the woman, but she figured it might be cool if it turns Mini Casanova JJ Maybank into a glowing mess of adoration. He’ll start to talk about his dad before his fingers still. He’ll back off, switch the subject, tell her to help him again. She doesn’t push on it, just like he doesn’t push when she frowns about her mom wanting her to learn how to do her makeup or other girly shit she’s not into.

None of the other boys know about this. Kie didn’t tell, and she’s sure JJ didn’t let them know either. He’s got a rep, after all. Even as young as he is, the image he projects is sharp, the after effect of a camera click. Kiara still feels like a developing photo — unfinished, blurry, fuzzy around the edges. But she’s got time to come into focus. She’s only twelve, after all. 

Sitting here with JJ, casually chatting about their lives and making stupid jokes as he practices and improves with his braiding skills, Kiara thinks it’s nice. For both of them. It’s nice to be twelve. 

For once.

—

The next time JJ braids her hair, they’re sixteen and they’ve just watched their friends sail into a storm there’s no coming back from. 

After it sunk in that John B and Sarah were gone, she, Pope, and JJ were all each other had. Their families would never understand how much they went through to get to this point. To watch it all fall apart was devastating. 

Pope was easy to melt into for comfort. Holding onto his hand as tightly as she could, like if she let go he’d be gone to the storm as well, she didn’t have to think twice about it. She held onto him before they all went home and told herself that JJ would be fine. 

Would she?

The answer was a strong and resounding _no_ , which brings her here, to sneaking out from her house and onto the beach. Her mother stirs lightly as her arm is lifted, but she latches onto her father after. Being sandwiched in between them for the night was supposed to feel comforting. Instead, she feels small. It’s suffocating, but so is the situation around her. She hopes the water will bring her a tiny sliver of peace, at least.

The ocean is a special place for Kie. Not only the calm, steady crash of the waves but also the connection to the Earth. None of it is man made. It remains untainted, a single pure entity in a world of corruption and greed. That same corruption and greed got her friends killed. Yet in some sick, twisted way, there’s comfort in the fact that they’re safe now. They’re home, drifting down somewhere in the bottom of the ocean. 

It’s good that it’s still raining. She blames the rain for the water on her face, for drawing her heartbreak out into screams and sobs and shouts of pain. She runs to the water. Not to drown in it, but to rage against it. Her knees collide with the wet sand and she beats her fists against the water rushing in and she _loses it._ Because she is allowed to lose it. 

Pope broke down and smashed his way through his frustrations. JJ bought his pain away with a hot tub. John B crashed the van through a gate to get to Sarah, and Sarah screeched and fought against her father to get back to John B. Kiara never saw the cracks, but she witnessed the endgame firsthand. Everyone else got to go batshit over something, but not her. So this is her _locura_ moment, her excuse to let everything go and push back against the forces that usher all of them around. Tomorrow she will wipe off her face, get her boys together and make a plan. But tonight? Tonight is for the freedom to be. Be distraught, be livid, be _something_. Be something. 

“Kie?”

She knows that voice. It’s older now, more mature and deeper. More broken. There are no more cracks to add up, the mirror’s splintered and all that remains is ruptured glass. Ruptured. Like the _Phantom_ . Like her friends at the bottom of the ocean. Like her heart, like her life, like _everything right now._ Ruptured. Interrupted.

“Kiara?”

That voice. She knows that voice. It’s gentler now, more so than she’s ever known it to be. Through stupid scrapes and ruffled hair, quick glances turned to secret stares. And who cares? Not her. Not with John B and Sarah not around. She can’t do this, she can’t care if they can’t anymore. _That should be one of the new Pogue rules,_ she thinks brokenly. Like the rules ever stopped anything before.

“Come on, Kie. Look at me.”

Why won’t he go away? Why won’t he leave her out here, in the rain and the ocean, cheek pressed against the sand before the water rushes in again? And why does he keep saying her name? Is that supposed to call her back? A sentence from a book pops up in her head, one she read for school but for some reason lands directly on her now.

_“‘I hope you care to be recalled to life?’_

_And the old answer:_

_‘I can’t say.’”_

“Can’t say what?” the voice prompts carefully, on eggshells. For once it doesn’t hide its jagged edges. Because there’s nothing to hide anymore. And that’s when it hits her.

“Anything,” Kiara whispers, choking on the words streaming from her lips, “Anything because there’s _nothing_ to say anymore. John B and Sarah can’t speak ever again. We can’t say anything against Ward and Rafe because who’s gonna believe three kids over the king of Figure Eight? I can’t say _a fucking thing_.” 

“Then don’t,” the voice proposes, and that’s when she looks up. It’s JJ. It’s always JJ, heading into The Wreck or off to knock some heads or onto a surfboard or the pullout at The Chateau. It’s JJ, but the words don’t sound like JJ at all. Wouldn’t he be telling her to get her head on or spew out some thinly connected plan so crazy it just might work? Why is he… defeated? Any other night, she wouldn’t accept this from herself or from him or Pope or anybody else because before this mess, there was always a way out. But tonight, with the freedom to be, Kiara can be defeated and JJ can too.

“Okay,” she says, voice cracked raw from her meltdown. She reaches out and pulls him down with her; there’s no way she’s doing this alone. He goes willingly, almost folding in on himself. And it hurts. It hurts her to see him like this. The red around his eyes, the shadows underneath, the hair sticking up in all places. She’s thankful neither of his eyes are black and that he isn’t sporting a fat lip, but she knows there could be bruises she can’t see. She’s got them now, lots, but they’re all on the inside. 

“Did you…” she starts.

_Go home?_

“Yeah,” he admits, and she wonders how he made it out alive. He doesn’t elaborate so she doesn’t ask. With the freedom to be, he can be as secretive as always. 

“You’re not…” he starts.

_Okay._

“Yeah,” she whispers, sniffling. The near mind reading is new; she hasn’t been able to tell what he was thinking since before her Kook Year.

“This is beyond fucked. Like straight in the ass sideways in a bush with a chainsaw fucked.”

A weak chuckle leaves her lips at his vulgar (but accurate) assertion of the situation. 

“Chateau?” Kiara proposes after a while of sitting side by side and staring out at the ocean. 

“Not yet,” JJ shrugs back. She catches a frown cross his lips, and he reaches over to take a half undone braid into his hands and finish it. She doesn’t say a word as he continues, carefully crafting braid after braid until her hair is all pulled into them. 

“Thank you,” Kiara says to him, pressing her lips against his cheek. She stays there a beat too long, pulling away so she can see his eyes. Her breathing hitches slightly and she swears his gaze flickers to her lips but she can’t do this to him. Or to Pope. She has the freedom to be selfish, but not like this. She kisses his nose instead and he exhales against her. 

Tomorrow she can worry about what this means. Tonight she doesn’t have to. Tonight, she has the freedom to be a girl on a beach in the rain with one of her best friends, heart open, mouth closed.

Almost free.

—

The third time JJ braids Kiara’s hair, she’s an even bigger mess than before. In a different way, but that’s how it feels like. She already knew she couldn’t handle the funeral. John B doesn’t even get one, which is _extremely fucked_ , but the whole island believes he murdered Peterkin in cold blood (despite her being the only person to help him with his DCS case) so they decide not dwelling on his death is enough. But for the princess of Figure Eight, nothing less than a star studded affair will do. Which brings her here, standing in front of her mirror. 

She’s dressed in all black, expensive and designer because this funeral has a dress code the size of Midsummers. Her lip quivers as she inhales and exhales quickly, trying to keep a hold of herself. She needs to throw in a few braids to complete the hairstyle she wants, because she put her foot down on another updo. But every time she tries to put them in, her hands shake and her hair comes out mangled. She doesn’t even realize she’s texting JJ until it sends.

_‘Come over. Need you.’_

Whatever coping mechanism joke he has at the ready dies on his lips when he sees her. She’s shaking from head to toe, silent, but he walks over calmly and asks her what he wants her to do. She tells him and he does it, and her only way to thank him is with a bear hug. She doesn’t give a fuck as she jumps up, locking her legs around his waist and crushing him against her. He takes her weight well, wrapping her up. They both cry and neither of them admit to it, but that’s okay. It’s hard enough admitting that John B and Sarah are truly dead and gone and they’re never coming back. 

Truthfully, the reason for Kie’s strong reaction to her braids is because she still looks like her. She can see herself in the mirror again, where yesterday night she had no idea who the girl with the hollow eyes was. She has him to thank for that and thank him she does. Her mom finds them in that position and it still takes Kiara a few seconds to detach herself from him. 

“Are you two ready to go?” The older woman asks, although not unkindly.

“Yes, Miss Anna,” JJ replies, and the old Kiara would’ve teased him a bit for the formalities. The new, Twilight Zone Kiara merely nods, taking JJ’s hand into her own. Pope’s joins it when they get downstairs. 

She’s still not ready. She won’t ever be ready. But at least she’s not alone.

—

The fourth time JJ braids Kiara’s hair, they’re lying in his bed. Naked. Technically it’s Big John’s bed but Kiara doesn’t really like to think about that. Fortunately, she’s got a few other things on her mind. Like how she got here. 

First off, it turns out that John B and Sarah are _alive_. They found the gold, Ward and Rafe are rotting in jail, and everything’s good again. Well, kind of. Once she gets over being overjoyed by their return, the cracks start to pop up again. Her, Pope, and JJ with their new inside jokes, a slightly off kilter dynamic. An explosion. There always is. But it gets better after that. The dynamic’s righted and the Pogues and Sarah are back. It’s not perfect, but it’s absolutely enough for her.

Second, she and Pope are no longer a thing. The split could’ve been more amicable, but considering they’re still friends, Kiara’s more than happy to take it. She knows she could’ve handled it better, ended it earlier, done more. Pope admits he held on a little too tightly to what they almost had. Kiara’s aware almost is never enough, which is why she lets go. And when he does, he needs space. She gives it, and slowly but surely, they find their way back to controlling all of the Pogues two brain cells. Still not perfect, but it works like a charm. 

Third, she dances again. Everywhere she can, anytime she can. She stopped while JB and Sarah were presumed dead, but now she moves all the time. On the bow of the _Pogue_ , for example. JJ’s watching her and she’s dancing. It’s just them; Pope is working on a new scholarship opportunity. She invites him to get up and dance and he does. Then they’re at the boneyard, hips smashed together, twisting and winding with no chill at all. Then they’re at the Chateau and this is a different kind of dancing, a kind she finds she prefers to all others. Which brings her here, with him. 

“Damn, Carrera,” JJ grins down at her, “That was something else.”

“I try,” Kiara replies dryly, though the smile on her lips spells out sickeningly sweet adoration. It’s soft, but fuck it, she’s allowed to be soft after all the bullshit they’ve been through to get here, normal idiotic crush stuff notwithstanding.

JJ winks as his lips find her forehead and she rolls her eyes to hide how her smile grows. She should get up and leave, definitely. She won’t, though. She can’t. Leaving this means returning to the real world with all of its problems and horrors. Sue her if she wants to stay in the bubble.

JJ’s fingers absently braid her hair and she yawns, nestling down deeper into his side. He runs hot so he’s warmer than she is, and she’s perfectly fine absorbing the heat. She’s dimly aware that she’s falling asleep, but for the first time in a long time, she gives herself over to it. Her drowsy brain believes her braids will protect her from nightmares. 

Her heart knows damn well it’s the boy behind them.

—

JJ’s not allowed to braid Kiara’s hair, not today. It’s too important.

“Why not? At this point I can probably braid better than you do.”

His argument is bolstered by the fact that he looks hotter than hell in the suit he had to buy for the occasion, but his crossed arms and minor pout detract from it a bit.

“One, no you can’t. And two, you don’t know how to do this type of braid and I don’t have time to teach you. You could fuck it up and we’re already running late.”

This is all true. Kiara watched a few videos on how to up her braid game because she wasn’t showing up to Sarah’s wedding with a regular style. John B wouldn’t care (as the groom, all he needed to worry about were his two groomsmen, one of which was here arguing with her) but Kie wanted Sarah’s day to be perfect. If that meant sucking up a little bit and doing her hair differently, then she would do it. She was still dressed like herself, which comforted her. And it was one night only. 

“You know, I could fuck _you_ up, too. Up, or down, or sideways, doesn’t really matter. Your choice.”

In all of her musings she’d missed JJ’s smirking, but when his hands meet her hips and his lips brush her ear, he has her full attention. She grins when she speaks next.

“Asshole!”

“Head over heels for you too, babe.”

She smiles, rolling her eyes and kissing him quickly at his sarcastic tone. Then she moves away from his grasp and proceeds to braid her hair. It goes well, which is good since they _really_ need to get out of their room and off to help prep for the ceremony. 

They do, and everything goes off without a hitch. Kiara cries a little, grinning madly. JJ pretends he doesn’t cry a little. There are speeches and dances and toasts and rings. It’s a marvelous time. In the middle of a slow dance, Kie realizes her braid’s come undone. She lets it unravel more before shaking her hair out all the way, beaming at the smile on JJ’s lips. His head dips forward and he kisses her, hard for some reason. She returns it but breaks away, a question in her eyes. 

“If I would’ve done it, it wouldn’t have come out,” JJ informs her, his matter of fact/I-told-you-so tone marred by the light huskiness in his voice. 

“Next time,” Kiara promises, and they continue to dance. Later, she’ll try to decipher the emotions in his eyes when he kissed her like that. She’ll wonder what he was thinking and he’ll tell her. In this moment, she enjoys everything about it. The happy atmosphere, her jovial friends, the peace surrounding them all. And she thinks it was nice to be twelve when she was twelve.

Twenty one is even better.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, all i have to say is that considering how quick sarah and john b said their ily’s, marrying young isn’t entirely ooc. That’s my piece 😂👏🏾


End file.
